DESTROYED
by kakkujapojat
Summary: I hate his lies, I hate his arrogance. I hate his taste; sweet, like chocolate. ...And I hate him with the same intensity that I long for him. That is my weakness. -Matt's POV. Re-written. MelloxMatt one-shot.-


**Author's Notes:**

**This is a totally random one-shot I thought of while listening to Ayumi Hamasaki's song "Powder Snow". The song put me in the mood for something weird and depressing, so I wrote this! **

**However, I decided to touch it up a bit because I was unsatisfied with the poor writing quality...So I added more detail and it turned out a bit different- though not varying too much from the original story. I think it's a lot better now, and I hope my readers will think that too :)**

**Matt's POV.**

* * *

破壊する

DESTROYED

(zerstören)

* * *

Mello. The name that I can't stop thinking about. No matter how hard I try, visions of that boy always seem to flood my mind, making me insane. I knew as soon as I glimpsed him that first day in the hallway that I had to meet him. Seeing all of the other boys grouped around him outside, laughing, getting the precious chance to share whatever conversation they were having, made me furious. I envied the ones close to him, as I felt sure that I would never be granted a place near him. I kept asking myself why I couldn't get him out of my damn mind. It wasn't as if I wanted to think about him twenty-four seven, but I couldn't help it. Everything else seemed so unimportant and insignificant. All that mattered was getting close to him.

What a mistake that was.

At this moment, I find myself asking me why I wanted to be near him in the first place. Certainly if I had known how badly it would fuck up my life, I would have stayed away from him, right? But then again, maybe deep in my heart I knew what would happen if I got to close. So if I knew, then why did I lead myself down this path that I knew would ultimately destroy me?

My life makes no sense now.

And it's all because of him.

I want to scream and cry, and yell until my voice is sore; but none of that will do any good, so why bother? I stay silent, my face pale and my hands shaking.

There's nothing to say, anyway.

This boy is a liar.

I can't believe he even managed to convince the teachers that it was all 'my idea'. It certainly was not! Then again, it's not as if I didn't want it too, but that little fucker could at least take responsibility for what he made me do. What he always makes me do... He could at least have the courage to tell the teachers who the real culprit is.

I want to strangle him.

But it's not like I can do it right here in the principal's office.

The principal gives me this tired look, as though he's tired of seeing me in his office every other day for various accounts of rule breaking and skipping class. Naturally, he isn't surprised that I'm here again, and naturally not surprised that I'm in here for something like this.

I just can't believe that this boy lied to me.

He stands on the other side of the room, his smile carefully controlled for the time being. His blue eyes look away from me, amused, all the same. Arms crossed over his chest, and one foot planted against the wall, he looks just like the cocky bastard he is. He has the principal wrapped around his little finger. Easily, he could have me expelled for this if he simply told them the right information. But he hasn't told them anything yet, which means he's toying with me.

He wants me to suffer.

And I hate him.

The principal takes out the 'guidelines' (In other words, a really big-ass book that has no meaning to me because I never obey anything that's written in it.)

He reads over the section that clearly states that any form of sexual conduct is a direct violation of the school code. While he reads, I see the boy smirk in the corner, obviously satisfied with the blush in my face; the anger in my eyes.

It's not my fault. He made me do it.

My hands ball into tight fists at my side, and I fight back the tears that are suddenly threatening to form in my eyes.

It's not my fault.

It's not my fault.

But they'd never believe me.

Stupid boy.

Once the principal gets finished lecturing me, he turns to Mello. He asks him exactly what happened – for the fiftieth time.

And for the fiftieth time I have to hear the speech -the lie- that will nearly rip my heart out. The speech that will make my nails dig into my palm until they draw blood, and tears well faster in my eyes.

Why couldn't I have just stayed away from him?

It had all started when I spoke to him the first time. He was sitting alone at lunch, and I took my opportunity. Nervous as I was, I managed to carry on a decent conversation; and I was flattered when he told me how he thought I was smart, and how I seemed to know so much more than the other boys. I was even more overjoyed when he asked me to sit with him the next day, and the day after that. It was almost like a dream come true.

Then came the classroom.

I noticed he was angry about something a few days later, but he didn't say anything that let on to his irritation. He kept up this facade for the other boys, but when it came to me, his eyes told the truth. I -of course- was eager to do anything I could to make him feel better, to be of some use to him. When he asked me to come into the classroom with him, I willingly obliged – wondering what he was going to ask me to do.

As soon as he shut and locked the door behind him, I think I knew.

I had heard that it hurt, but I never really thought much of it.

That day I found out it did, more than anything you can imagine. It was like being ripped apart from the inside; I never knew it was possible to be in so much pain at once.

I think I tried to run away at first, but his strong grip kept me pinned to the floor, as his hands gripped the waistband of my jeans and yanked them down to my ankles. The fear in my breathing must have been evident, for he laughed slightly when I began to protest physically, attempting to wrench out of his grasp and pull myself up from the floor.

He wouldn't have it.

He destroyed me that day, forcing me down onto the floor, while he released his built-up frustration out on me, with little care as to what discomfort or pain it caused me.

I had said I wanted to be useful, and if this is the only way it happened, then I suppose I'm obliged to do so.

But I've been destroyed every day since then, and the scars and bruises on my body are proof enough of that fact.

But I let him destroy me. I allow him to force me down and break for him.

But now, when the teachers become involved, everything is suddenly pinned on me. 'The Troublemaker'. Everything is always my fault. The teachers would take no hesitation in blaming me for the incident, especially if it was my word against his.

Maybe that's why he chose me.

Sometimes I want to leave, want to go back and change history so that I never spoke to him. But every time he takes me into another empty classroom, I can't ignore what my hidden feelings are. I can't shy away from what I secretly want from him, and the only way to obtain that is to let him continue to destroy me in this fashion.

Even now, sitting here and listening to him make my life a living hell, doesn't make me care about him any less. I want to hit myself for still liking him after he did this to me.

But I can't really help it, now can I?

It was only after a couple weeks of going through it, that I realized something. Apart from my angry glares in the hallway when he purposely teased me with a brush of his hand against mine as he passed me, and the way I'd always shrug him off if he tried to touch me in any way, the other boys never had such hostile attitudes. They admired him, they looked up to him, they were his friends. He never treated them the way he did me; he never hit or destroyed any of them. So why me?

He uses me like a toy, teasing me and playing with me when he wishes, forcing me down and destroying me when we were alone. I resented him for it, yet I never made him stop, nor did I try and tell the teachers what was going on. In a way, I felt special; like I had some certain duty that the other boys didn't. Like Mello and I shared a secret, a bond, that he didn't bother to share with the other boys.

I don't know if this made us closer or not.

When the boy finishes 'explaining', the principal looks at me again, clearly expecting me to deny the accusation.

When I say nothing, Mello smirks at me. "What's the matter, cat got your tongue?" he asks.

I want to _strangle_ him.

I really do.

"Well?" the principal prompts. "Do you have a version to all of this?"

I can feel every part of me shaking. I'm still fighting the will to break down and cry; that's the last thing I want to do in front of that boy. That's what he wants, anyway; the sound of my crying is delicious poison to his ears. Slowly, I shake my head.

They wouldn't believe me anyway.

"Really?" The boy says, his voice feigning amusement. "You have nothing to add?"

I shake my head again, looking down at the floor – anywhere but at him.

His beautiful deep blue eyes...

Those lying, traitorous, eyes...hiding so many secrets behind his conceited charm.

The principal announces that that's all for today.

I get detention for two weeks.

Not the worst that I could've got.

When we exit the principal's office, Mello immediately turns and pulls me into the closest empty classroom.

The smirk is clearly visible on his face now as he pushes me up against the wall and presses our lips together, holding my hands tightly above my head so that I can't move.

I'm fairly used to this, so I don't try and free myself.

"Thanks for not telling them it was me," he says, his eyes challenging as they bore into mine. "Though they wouldn't have believed you anyway."

I stare up at him, refusing to break the gaze; knowing that, if I do, then I will have already lost the battle long before it has begun.

Mello's eyes change a bit, and his face becomes stony. It's a look I've never seen on him before; a look that almost says...he doesn't want to do this.

I remain silent, as he locks the door and pushes me into the table. I don't say a word as his tongue ravages against my neck, and his hands tear at my clothes, scraping against my skin – creating thin red lines to match the array of scars already scattered along my back from where he's been frustrated before.

He's always rough, but I don't mind. I'm used to it.

This is how it's been for two years.

By now, I'm well-trained enough so that I don't make noises that will give us away. Though if I sometimes forget my place, he'll place his hand over my mouth -very tightly- to keep me quiet.

Even though I know he's only using me, I still can't say no to him. You may think I'm foolish to let him take advantage of me this way, but only I understand the truth about my feelings. He may think that he wins and I get nothing, but he doesn't know that every time he does this to me, he's giving me exactly what I want. _To be with him._ That's all I ask in return for letting him take out all of his frustration out on me. The pain is worth it, if I can only be with him.

It's obvious he enjoys it; enjoys breaking me, hearing me cry out – and knowing that he has the control. Because he isn't always angry when he takes me into an empty room. Sometimes he can be perfectly happy, and he'll still do it. I don't really care what his feelings are.

I know my place. I've always known it.

I was foolish to go up that day and talk to him. To tell him my name, and sit by him in class. I was even stupider to follow him into the empty classroom that first time.

I _hate_ this boy.

I hate his lies, I hate his arrogance.

I hate his deep blue eyes, the ones that always follow me across the room, waiting for the first chance that we're alone.

I hate his entrancing voice, the voice that lured me into all of this mess.

I hate his taste; sweet, like chocolate.

I hate his hands; holding me down and forcing me to submit and bend at his every will.

I hate his whole being.

...And I hate him with the same intensity that I long for him night and day.

That is my weakness.

When he finishes with me, Mello stands up and redresses himself, smirking at me once more, as I always take much longer to regain any strength to lift myself up. He knows how it drains my energy, he knows very well the toll it always takes on me. He especially knows of the searing pain I experience every time he does this to me.

I expect him to walk out without another word, to leave me alone. But instead, he walks back over to me and takes my arm.

I immediately recoil, my heart pounding against my chest at the prospect of more torture.

But his touch is surprisingly soft, gentle, as he helps me up from the floor. His azul eyes bore into mine, as though trying to read my thoughts. He looks at me carefully, watching for a reaction. Then, suddenly, he leans forward, his head resting on my shoulder as he wraps his arms around my shaking body.

These sorts of actions aren't like him; he never touches me unless it's a touch full of hatred, or anger, or frustration.

I stay still for a moment, my mind processing his unusual actions. But before I have time to think of a rational explanation, I feel his lips against my ear.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

I can feel my eyes widen, and in the blink of an eye he's disappeared from my side and is out the door without another word.

As he leaves, I smile to myself, ignoring the hot tears silently streaking my face.

His words said all I needed to know.

* * *

The next day at school, Mello meets me in the hallway. His expression is angry, even this early in the morning.

"Get inside," he says emotionlessly, opening the door of the empty classroom.

Any other day, I would have already felt my heart pounding in anticipation for what was to come, but today I'm surprisingly calm. Obeying his orders, I walk into the classroom and wait standing by one of the tables.

His angry expression grows slightly pained as he sees that I'm awaiting it so willingly.

I hear the familiar click of the lock in the doorway, and next thing I know I'm on my hands and knees again.

But I don't fight it this time.

I understand now.

Mello has never treated any of the other boys like me. He's never touched them, never broken them, never hit or beat them like he does me. Even if he's angry, he doesn't take it out on them.

It's only me. Only me.

But he can't help it.

If I weren't here, he'd either be bottling up all of his anger and frustration, or he'd be taking it out on himself or someone else. In a twisted sort of way, I'm needed to be the outlet of his emotions.

However, I can see it in his eyes now, how he feels about it. He doesn't want to do this. It's only because I allow it that he ends up destroying me; he can't stop himself from doing this in order to hold on to what sanity he has left. By destroying me, he's protecting himself.

And the fact that he doesn't do this to any of the other boys, that he only does it to me, and me only...it proves...

...that even if I'm nothing to him, even if he's only using me...

I belong to him.

I'm his.

And I never want that to change.

* * *

**  
Author's Notes:**

**Once again, just a completely random one-shot. Maybe it makes sense, maybe it doesn't...? Matt's basically the same as in my fanfiction "Obsession", so writing this wasn't much different from writing that...(haha) **

**All the same, review whether you liked it, or whether you hated it! :) I'd like to hear either way. That way I can improve!**


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